Cayenne batted her eyes at the young detective in the sweetest way, willing him to fall stir crazy in love with her. Marcy had spent the previous evening trying to coach her Yankee sensibility in the wily ways of Southern women. Marcy was a devotee of the Sweet Potato Queens of Mississippi and she used the Queens' Book of Love as a training manual to shape Cay into a kinder and gentler Southern woman.
"Enthusiasm, girlfriend. That and the Promise is all you need to get anything from a man," Marcy chided her as they drank tumblers of Fat Mama's Knock You Naked Margaritas made from a recipe from the book.
Cayenne had finagled this date with Mike Piéce, Rufus's partner on the Traceaux and, now, the Pon Pon murders, hoping to find out more about the investigations. Cayenne tried her darndest to listen and smile like a coquette on her first date. Every once in awhile, she touched her finger to Mike's hand as she gradually drew out the story of Evangeline Pon Pon over a couple beers at O'Tuxes.
"This is the strangest case that I've ever worked," Detective Piéce mumbled through a mouth of Cajun popcorn shrimp. "They found those damn plastic babies at both the crime scenes. Ain't that a pig too fat to fly?"
Cay had gone out with Mike once before, but the sparks just weren't flying. She felt slightly guilty about exploiting his tendency to blabber and his crush on her. But Rufus would never give her this much information. So she flirted and smiled and to assuage her guilt, she resolved to pick up the tab for today's téte-a-téte.
"That's what Rufus said. Babies at both the scenes." Cay prompted her prey. She knew she was going to be dead crawfish meat if Rufus found out she was pumping his partner for information.
"The M.O.s matched, " Mike said. "That means Method of Operation in police speak. Sliced by a zydeco rubboard. Ain't that the damndest? Those little babies were at the scene, though I guess that don't mean much since everybody in New Orleans got 'em this time of year. I got one the other day and had to buy a cake from Fontaines. We got no connection between the two stiffs yet. "
Except the beads, Cay thought to herself, taking a deep pull on her beer.
"Queen for a day, Evangeline was," joked the officer. "Little did she know it was going to sign her death warrant. Still had those little purple sprinkles on it. Big fancy ones. Grandbois said the only place in town you can get those kind of sprinkles is over at that bakery Philippe's. Like I could ever afford one of those fancy-dancy cakes."
Mike took another glug of beer and for the dozenth time that night, looked lustily at Cay.
"Now speaking of a queen, Ms. Cayenne. You sure are looking pretty tonight. That's a pretty shade of lipstick." He leaned forward to kiss her.
But Cay's mind had started racing at the mention of the sprinkles on the baby found at the scene of Evangeline's murder. She remembered the pink box in Evangeline's office. Philippe's was the name handwritten on the outside. She would bet her parking spot in the French Quarter that Philippe's was the source of the King Cake that held the baby now being held in the morgue.
She returned to reality just in time to meet Mike's beer soaked kiss. She let him kiss her, then remembered one of Marcy's lessons from the Sweet Potato Queens. She let a minute pass after the kiss. Then she bolted up straight in her chair as if she had received an electric shock.
"Would you pleeeeeaaazz excuse me, Mike?" She raced away from the table toward the women's bathroom. In there, she gave herself lots of time and then pinched her cheeks to make herself look flushed. When she returned to the table, she didn't sit down, but tried to look as embarrassed as possible.
"Uh, Mike." Then she leaned over and whispered a little louder than she needed to. "I've just started my period. I need to go home right now." She grabbed her coat. "I'll call you."
Marcy had instructed her that there is no subject that embarrasses a Southern man more than menstrual periods. Cay had made it a point to make sure that the three guys watching the basketball game on the bar television also had heard her and she saw right away that Mike was not going to protest her leaving. She was halfway out the door before she remembered the tab.
"Next time, Mikey. I'll make it up to you," she promised under her breath.
Cayenne got home and didn't even have her coat off before she called up Marcy to ask about Philippe's.
"Best bakery in town especially for King Cakes," she said. "His catering division is called Philippe's, but his bakery open to the plain folk is called the Slippery Slope. They call him baker for the stars, because Harry Connick, Pete Fountain and when he was alive, Frank Sinatra, all ordered cakes there. He's got a reputation as being brilliant and totally insane. Word is, don't get him mad."
Marcy paused, then asked, "How did your attempt to imitate a true Southern woman go over with Joe Detective?"
Cay relayed the highlights of her evening.
"I owe you a box of tampons," she said before she hung up.
**********************************************************
Damn if it wasn't raining again. Cay steered her little Honda through the narrow streets of the Quarter. She dodged delivery trucks half parked on sidewalk and half on the street. Street folks muttered to themselves as they stumbled down the street. Cay's mind was racing.
It disturbed Cay that she had been just talking with Evangeline Pon Pon just a few days ago. Now she was dead. Maybe Zy was telling the truth about his stolen rubboard. Why would he kill Evangeline, when she owned the club that was making him famous? If Mary Dan was behind it, why hire a private investigator? All she knew is that someone was out there killing people in a particularly nasty way and her gut instinct told her that it had something to do with the missing bead.
Cayenne resolved to tell Rufus about her speculations and confess what she knew. But before the big scene, she wanted to check out Philippe's first out of curiosity. Maybe Philippe would know something. Maybe she could pick up some crullers for Mike as a consolation prize. That is, if Southern bakers knew what crullers were.
The Slippery Slope was in a nondescript building with large front windows that featured an amazing assortment of pastries, pies and cakes. The door made a delicate tinkle as she entered. She held the door open for two women carrying white boxes with the Slippery Slope logo printed on the outside. As she approached the counter, Cay came face to face with the most gorgeous blue eyes ever attached to a man's face. And the face wasn't bad either.
"Can I help you today?" a French accent asked as a to-die-for handsome man wiped his hands on his apron. He then put his hands on the counter and leaned seductively forward.
"I'm sure you could," she muttered under her breath when she was able to focus again. She pulled herself together and tried to remember her Sweet Potato Queen lessons from Marcy. She leaned into the counter and looked back into those eyes. "Well now, darling. I need a King Cake for a little soirée I'm throwing, and I hear that y'all have the best."
"Would you like to have a bebe?" he leaned forward even more, pronouncing baby in French.
Cay thought she was going to faint, then realized what he really meant did she want a plastic baby or a bean for the prize.. "Uh, well, yeah," falling back into her Chicago accent.
She was saved by two doors violently swung open from the kitchen and a blur of energy barreling toward her.
"JeanMarc! When you are done flirting with that pretty girl, get the Krewe du Couture cake prepared. Dinah will be by shortly to pick it up." The voice came from a ball of white cotton that streaked by the counter. Cay's ears perked up at the mention of Mary Dan's krewe.
"Ooo la la, Philippe!" JeanMarc leaned forward and whispered huskily, "Dinah is the love of his life and she is on her way! Everyone at attention!"
Philippe wheeled around and shouted at JeanMarc in French. JeanMarc shrugged as he turned and walked to a special cabinet separated from the counter. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and opened the locked cabinet.
Cay thought it strange that they had to lock up a cake.
"What? What? What?" Philippe was now yelling at her. "What do you want?"
Cay stood up straight and back away from the counter and thought fast. "Monsieur Phillipe, I'm a Northerner who has recently moved to this city and I've heard that your King Cakes are the most divine in the city. I'm so pleased to meet you."
She put out her hand and tried to affect the most reverential look she could muster. Marcy had told her that Sweet Potato Queens resort to flattery in order to give them time to think.
It worked. The ball of energy stopped, startled, and extended a floury rough chapped hand. "It is true! It is true!" He leaned into a counter and grabbed a cake and proceeded to rip it apart. "Taste this, taste this. Is this not the most gorgeous, delicious and buttery lightness of being you have ever tasted?"
He plucked a piece of pastry and tucked it into Cay's hand. "Eat. Eat." She noticed the large sprinkles as she put it into her mouth.
"Emeril knows nothing about baking. Emeril's cakes are shit!" He threw up his hands in disgust.
The cake was buttery and sweet and moist. There was another flip in her stomach, this time not from JeanMarc, but from the sensual quality of the pastry. Something in the buttery softness and the piquant frosting spoke to her tastebuds. Bits of bursting sweetness felt like fireworks in her mouth.
"These sprinkles are marvelous.' Cay said through a mouthful.
"From Thailand," Phillipe said. "We are the only bakery in town that uses them. It is the details that make the difference."
"This is magic," Cay said, hoping he'd offer her another bite.
"We can do that, too," Phillipe said distractedly, then he motioned to JeanMarc. "Hurry you fool. I see her coming." Phillipe dashed away and made fluttering motions around JeanMarc who moved slowly, almost lazily in a hungry lion kid of way. He brought a pink cake box to the counter. It was identical to the box in Evangeline's office. JeanMarc picked up a black Sharpie marker and hand wrote "Philippe's" across the top flap.
The door tinkled again and opened to let enter a incredibly handsome woman with the dark skin of a Creole. Philippe ran to her side and helped her take off her rain shawl. Cay saw she was dressed in a stunning cream colored dress, with the bodice covered in shell button and small pearls. An old fashioned bustle of white net cascading behind reminding Cay of fabric from Teutite's. Marcy would die for a dress like this, Cay thought.
Cay saw immediately that what JeanMarc had said was true. Philippe was in love with this beautiful creature. As he scurried about her, JeanMarc took the opportunity to slip into the back room.
"Be right back," he said, touching her hand and winking.
Cay took the opportunity to make like she was seriously studying the array of pastries in the display case. Her eyes were looking, but her ears were eavesdropping on the lovebirds. They spoke in low hushed tones, urgently, with Philippe being very persistent. She heard him say words like "it is mad" and "getting very dangerous." Once she heard the word "gris gris." Dinah said very little, except for the once time Cay heard her say very clearly, "We have no other choice. Your cake is our last chance."
Cay worked her way back to the countertop in front of the cash register in hopes that the divine JeanMarc would come back and talk with her. She saw the pink box on the counter and saw a packing slip. With Philippe involved with Dinah and JeanMarc in the back room, she leaned slightly over the counter and read the address and name on the slip. Madame Dan, Krewe du Couture, 46 Venus Way. There was no charge at the bottom of the slip, just a small figure that looked like a starburst.
JeanMarc burst out of the back room and sauntered over to the counter. "Now, mon petite fille," he oozed. "we need to find you a cake."
"How about one from your special stash over there?" Cay said and pointed at the locked cabinet.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw the dash of white zoom towards her. "No! No! No! No! Those are not to be touched! I shall find you a cake of your own." Philippe shook his finger at Cay and started to yell at JeanMarc in French again.
Dinah took the opportunity to move quickly to the counter to pick up the pink box. "Merci, monsieur. Merci." She turned around and darted out of the shop so quickly that Cay noticed that she left her cloak behind, draped over a wooden chair.
Philippe seem torn between Cayenne's King Cake and the beautiful Creole woman who darted out into the mist. As the door closed behind Dinah, Philippe sighed deeply. He seemed resigned as he handed Cayenne a white box with the words Slippery Slope preprinted on the box. Seemed Cayenne was not in the special class catered to with the specialties in the locked cabinet.
She paid her bill and asked to use the pay phone. She dialed her office number, which no one answered, and waited for Philippe to disappear behind the swinging door to the kitchen. She strode back up to the counter and used her best Sweet Potato Queen eyes on the blue ones staring her back.
"How about meeting me for a drink later, darling?" she asked JeanMarc as she touched his hand and smiled through the new shade of lipstick she had purchased just the day before.
CHAPTER SIX: Bourbon in a Go-Cup and Too Many Oysters
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